


Drizzle and Downpour

by JuHuaTai



Category: One Piece
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-07 15:40:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuHuaTai/pseuds/JuHuaTai
Summary: ‘There’s things about me i don’t want you to know, and i’m afraid if i ever tell you, you’ll be disgusted by me’It didn’t escape Ace’s notice how ironic it is that he would be told such, and he hated that the moment he found out about this secret, he really did feel disgusted. But not at Marco.Never, ever at Marco.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Description of non-graphic child abuse and the aftermath, and violence in general.
> 
> -
> 
> Hello, you know what this means: Writer’s block. Yeah. A quick little thing while i have some time in my hand.
> 
> Came across an art (actually i think it was from Oda’s SBS?) where Ain, the girl from Movie Z turns people into kids and we got Kid Law, Kid Kid (As in, Eustass Kid as a, well, kid. You know what i mean), Kid Shanks and for major ROFL moment, literally a pineapple with Marco’s clothes around it. It was hilarious and i was going to write maybe a crack fic based on that, but then my mind went ’let’s make it sad because you just finished Yakuza 6 and is an extremely sad and empty human being’ and i go ‘ok’.
> 
> Please forgive me for any (more than usual) mistake, i will come back to fix mistakes once i have some time to spare. Probably.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

_“Rain, rain go away, come again another day, i want to go out and play, rain, rain go away,”_

 

Of course, Grand Line’s storm won’t be so kind as to hear his little ditty and comply. Outside, a flash of thunder struck somewhere far away, the noise unconcealed by the seemingly endless drops from the gloomy sky and the uncontrollable waves that sways Moby Dick around. It’s been going on since yesterday, and according to the navigators, this rain will either end tomorrow or next week, showing to them once again just how unpredictable Grand Line’s weather can be.

 

He never did like the rain, not ever since he arrived in Grand Line the first time.

 

_“Rain, rain go away, come again another day, you made things wet and i hate wet, rain, rain go away,”_

 

It’s one of the drawback of being a logia, especially with the element of fire, as he learned. Ever since he got his Devil Fruit coming out during rain is such a pain, with his skin sizzling at every drop. Not to mention the lethargy that comes with being wet in general, as well as the raised chance of his narcolepsy to appear. It doesn’t only affect logias, as far as he knows, but it would seem like his conflicting element added the extra burden on him.

 

The lantern on the far away work desk flickered when the wind outside picked up briefly. From the bed, a pair of grey eyes kept themselves fixated on the outside dark sky when a flash of thunder could be seen followed by a rolling storm.

 

_“Rain, rain go away, come again another day, i miss sleeping on the deck, rain—“_

 

_“—Rain, rain go away,”_

 

Ace let out an embarrassed yelp at the second singing voice, and turned towards the door to indeed found Marco closing the door behind him, hair still dripping wet underneath the towel hooded over his head, and an odd look of thoughtfulness across his face. Not that Ace particularly cared about what he’s thinking about now, because he has more pressing issue to address, “When did you get here?!”

 

“Hm? Oh, right, i think since you started singing actually,” By now, Ace can see the telltale twitching on his lips, showing that he’s actually trying to hold back from laughing. He ducked his head down under the towel he had on his head when Ace glared, and when the barely contained smile turned into laughter, with a little harrumph, the younger turned around on the bed and pulled the blanket around himself, hiding away the redness that bloomed across his face.

 

The bed soon dipped and he felt himself, along with the blanket he’s curled in, being dragged back effortlessly, “I’m cold, let me in the blanket,”

 

“Suffer,” the younger of the two tried to roll away, but the arms trapping him and the blanket he was holding on too tightly, effectively trapping him in one place. He held on to the blanket even tighter when another hand started trying to tug it away, “No, this is my room, and people who secretly listened to me making a fool out of myself don’t get to be comfortable,”

 

“Oh come on, i wasn’t even making fun of you,” he heard a warm chuckle from beyond the thick material, which soon faded away to a curious hum, “That song just sounded pretty familiar for some reason. Like i’ve heard it somewhere before,”

 

That piqued Ace’s curiousity enough to poke his head out of the bundle he cocooned himself into, finding himself staring up to Marco’s face and almost bumping his nose, “What do you mean, familiar? It’s a song Luffy made up when he was a kid, i highly doubt you ever heard it,”

 

“Huh, maybe i heard you sang it any other time?”

 

“I never di— Whoa!”

 

In his distraction, Ace failed to notice the hand that slithered inside the blanket and tug it off from him, and now instead of the woollen cover, Marco was curled around him, their legs intertwined forcibly with both of the older man’s cold and slightly damp arms wrapped around him. He tried to struggle but know he won’t get too far, and it’s not like he wanted to get out of the sudden embrace anyway, “I’m still mad at you,”

 

“Will you forgive me for listening in if i say you have a beautiful singing voice?”

 

“I will make your non-cold resistant bird ass sleep on the floor,”

 

They tussled around a little bit more, giggling like stupid children to each other’s mouth in the privacy of their own - well, Ace’s, but they stayed over each other’s room so often the degree of ownership blurred as of the late - room, a rather immature activity that quickly descended to something a little more steamy and not at all juvenile. Hands glide over skin, fingers tracing every crook and asymmetrical lines, taking in shapes and outline, and through the heady pleasure, a thought emerged from Ace’s mind.

 

Even with the power of regeneration, Marco was not completely without scar.

 

He knew this well, intimately well even, when time and time again, he could feel ridges and jagged edges of old scars along the man’s body. The most prominent one, and coincidentally the one that always made him the most upset whenever Ace’s hand accidentally strayed there and he has to keep in mind to avoid, was placed in the middle of his chest, right where he bore Whitebeard’s mark. Each of these scars are nigh invisible to the eye, and how deep they ran were unknown to many, but not to him.

 

It had only been a few months since they started regularly sharing the same bed, but during those short months, Ace had bore witness to plenty of fitful sleeps, thrashing, waking up in cold sweat, and even days without rest. For him, it was easy to mask the fact that he himself was awake - or perhaps Marco was too distracted to notice he wasn’t quite asleep - and it was because of it did he often saw the way the blonde would sit for hours on the edge of the bed, his hand tentatively tracing a seemingly shapeless pattern across his tattoo, right around the odd scar he was so secretive about.

 

Just like right now, looking tired and much older, with a face that spoke of life-long misery.

 

There’s things about me i don’t want you to know, was the only answer he was given before, the first and last time he ask of those scars, and i’m afraid if i ever tell you, you’ll be disgusted by me.

 

That had been a warning, even a plea to stop him from prying, and unbeknownst to Marco, it had been a reminder that Ace himself hadn’t been the only one unforthcoming in this burgeoning relationship. He didn’t quite have scars to show for them, but he had the very same fear, he knows what it’s like wanting to hide a detrimental part of yourself and it was the only thing that stopped him from ever asking any further.

 

Still, it didn’t mean that Ace didn’t want to reach out sometimes, assuring him that it would never be the case. Marco meant more to him than things that may be in his past. Maybe if he could say that, he’ll have the courage to confess his own secret.

 

But as his hand faltered from trying to reach over that hunched back, Ace knew that won’t happen tonight. The logia pulled his hand back silently, and soon fell into deep slumber, distantly hearing a muffled, somber rendition of an otherwise cheerful tune.

 

“ _Rain, rain go away…_ ,”

 

* * *

 

He hated the rain. He always did. Especially when it rained in Grand Line, because something bad always happened whenever it rained in Grand Line.

 

If it hadn’t been raining so hard, they would’ve been able to see the approaching ship much earlier, prepare much better for the ensuing battle. If it hadn’t been raining so hard, then his fire would’ve been much more efficient, it would’ve done a short work on that daring pirate ship and he won’t have to stay back. If it hadn’t been raining so hard and thick, then he’ll be able to see things better, and he’ll be able to warn Marco to stop going after the fleeing opposing captain when suddenly threw an oddly shaped projectile upwards, clearly aiming for the zoan.

 

But it did rain, the hardest it did in days, and so Ace could only watch in horror when the moment whatever it is the captain had been using made contact with Marco - accompanied by the sound of breaking glass and bright coloured splash - he suddenly plummeted down to the water, disappearing into the raging waves.

 

His feet already moved by itself, but he was held back with a large arm clasping his shoulder tightly, holding him back, “Namur!”

 

“On it!”

 

“Front line, retreat, commander down!” Behind him, Jozu’s voice became even louder, piercing through the windy wails and far away thunderous clap, “10th and 16th Division, ready your aim! Sink their ship!”

 

A single giant cannon broke through the smaller pirate’s ship, sinking it immediately, and with the level of precision only Izou’s division can achieve, soon, the entire deck was littered with their assailant. No mercy granted to those who managed to harm one of their own. But even as the last of the men died an anguished death, there was no celebration or declaration of victory, and every capable body on deck had their attention turned to the fact that Namur has yet to resurface with Marco.

 

The hand on Ace’s shoulder, still encased by hard diamond, tightened its grip.

 

A wave of relief rushed through the entire ship when there was a splash and the fishmen commander was back on board, but it was quickly chased away by an even larger scale of panic and concern when he held no body in sight. Instead, his expression was one of bewilderment and panic, and perhaps if his biology had allowed him to, Namur would’ve gone pale, “Pops!” he shouted, almost flailing while he climbed the rails and made his way over, “Pops, something’s wrong!”

 

It wasn’t until he was closer, close enough to be able to be seen through the thick rain curtain, did Ace could see that he wasn’t completely empty handed. Cradled in his arms was a small bundle of purple, the same shade as Marco’s shirt, and at the sight of yellow peeking out of the shirt, Ace’s stomach lurched in uncertainty. He shook off Jozu’s arm - whose grip had gone lax - and rushed over to where Namur was showing whatever it is he held in his arm to their captain.

 

Ace stopped on his tracks, almost simultaneously as everyone suddenly gasped, when they finally caught sight of what Namur had been holding.

 

Whitebeard’s face turned ashen, holding the expression of terror and distraught as if he had seen a ghost, “Marco,”

 

The child in Namur’s arms barely stirred at the tremor that calls his name, still as the dead.

 

* * *

 

He had seen people being tortured before; whether it was his doing or he rescued someone from one before and after joining in with the Whitebeard Pirates. It is a cruel world out there, after all, where often times, injuries were inflicted towards those who were undeserving of it, simply because the ones who put those wounds there could.

 

In Ace’s most humble opinion, it took a special kind of sick fucker who would do that to a _child._

 

They have no idea how this could possibly happen, but the longer he sat by the infirmary bed, watching how mangled the small, barely breathing body on top of the pristine and sterile bed, the longer Ace didn’t think it mattered about the how, but why. If this child truly is Marco - and Pops was certain of it, an acknowledgement he gave gravely - then what sort of life could a boy who looked barely older than a toddler could have led that resulted to this? What sort of monster did this?

 

(Could Ace find him, exact revenge on them?)

 

Everywhere he looked, there seemed to be more bruise than actual skin, the amount of discolouration all over the sleeping child’s body was already stomach-turning on its own without the various amount of laceration, scabs and marks that could only be made by the kind of objects children has no business being close to. Even after cleaned, bandaged and changed, he looked horrible, with the darkened ring around his eyes and face that spoke of restless sleep. His wrist were both red and slightly pale, the sign of lack of circulation, the same way with his neck, where they found handcuff and a bomb collar strapped tightly on to both respectively.

 

Pops had raged tremendously the moment he saw them, barking orders to quickly have them taken off. Once Rakuyo handed it to him with at his request, they all watched as he crushed the instruments with both of his hands, face contorted in extreme anger even when it exploded between his giant palms and caused him to be cut rather deeply across his palm. He walked away without another word to his own quarters, ordering them to immediately tend to Marco and find out what had caused this sudden de-aging.

 

Ace had never seen their patriarch act the way he did, never with that much anger, and judging by the shocked silence all around them, neither did any one of them.

 

But he could hardly blame him.

 

Taking a deep breath, the fire logia reach over to the small limp hand, and felt his chest clenched at how small Marco’s hands were, or at least, how they used to be. He remembered the first time he met Luffy and the first time he willingly held his brother’s hand, and know this is much smaller than that, when he was sure this Marco was roughly around Luffy’s age at that time. Tracing his hands upward, trying not to grimace every time his fingers brushed against a healing scab or deep cut, he realized everything about Marco was much smaller than Luffy from back then, who he always thought was the tiniest kid he would ever see in his life.

 

But Marco wasn’t just tiny, he recalled from the conversation he overheard between the nurses and the fleeting explanation he was given from the doctor, he was malnourished and in such a condition it was a miracle he’s still alive. There was none of the fat a child his age should have, his ribs were protruding painfully, and nothing, nothing could be more horrifying than how the bruises on his body were shaped and placed.

 

Ace’s eyes, tracing along with his fingers, came across one, a hand prints shaped bruise that was turning yellow and thus quite old, stacked over the bruises left by the collar. Someone held that thin neck, feeling how fragile it is underneath their obviously much stronger hands, and yet they still decided to— For someone to leave that deep of a mark…

 

With a shuddering breath, he withdrew his hand and wrapped it around his own throat, eyes squeezed shut when he found he couldn’t complete his own thoughts. His body involuntarily lurched and he could feel goosebumps all over his arms, taking deep breaths to stop himself from whimpering and wishing for the horrifying image to go away.

 

But beyond all, the one that made him feel all the more ill about this sight, was the mark in the middle of the child’s hardly moving chest, an ill sight even above the plethora of gruesome sight on such a small body.

 

He felt sick to his core when he realized he knows that shape. He had only felt it once, but there was no mistaking it.

 

“They call it the ‘Hoof of the Soaring Dragon’. It’s a mark used by the Celestial Dragons to show that someone’s a slave,” Ace must’ve been highly distracted if he couldn’t hear someone as big as Whitebeard moved around and enter the infirmary, but there he was, manouvering with ease considering the limited space inside of the room for someone with his bulk. He managed, sitting right on the empty space right across the bed. From where he sat, Ace could smell the sharp reek of alcohol permeating from the old captain, “They would sear it to the slave’s back, forever marking them as an object instead of a living being. Plenty of the men here has them, with the life as a pirate the only thing that allowed them to retain their humanity after what they go through during their years as slaves,”

 

“But Marco’s on his chest,”

 

“It depends on the ‘master’. Some enjoys the pain the marking process brought to their slaves, and watching their faces was a lot more appealing to them,” Whitebeard’s breath stuttered, and for a second, shadows of the rage he showed earlier appeared before it fizzled with a deep sigh, “And sometimes, they like it even more coming from a defenseless child,”

 

Ace could taste bile from his throat, surging as he recalled every single time Marco would stop his hand from wandering to his chest, the pain that crossed his face the first time he ever asked about them, “Monsters,”

 

Whitebeard’s face was solemn, as he kept vigilant to the small figure on the bed, “They are indeed, my boy, they are indeed,”

 

Thunderous clap of great magnitude was heard outside, flashing in from the windows on one side of the infirmary. On the bed, Marco whimpered in his sleep, tossing his head to the side with his brows furrowed. On instinct, Ace stood up and gently shush him, caressing one arm as carefully and gently as he could, mindful to the various gauzes. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Whitebeard reaching to his side, pulling on to the flimsy curtain attached over the circular windows and pulling them all close.

 

“He never,” the dark haired commander began, faltering slightly when he couldn’t find the right words to say, “He’s never forthcoming when it comes to his past,” as he said this, his hand wandered to the half-concealed slave mark, watching it with no small amount of contempt. The face Marco made the first time he asked were always imprinted in the back of his mind, the grievance and self-hatred, something Ace could tell only because he himself was all too familiar with the feeling.

 

“Can you blame him, son? It wasn’t something you can easily admit,” his captain went silent, and when he spoke again, his voice was oddly gentle, fragile almost, “It’s even harder still dealing with being inevitably reminded of your days down there. I had only spent minutes in that place, the first time i took him away. Sometimes i would be reminded of it, and it would take me several strong drinks to forget and not hate myself for not coming sooner. I can’t imagine living there for as long as he did,”

 

Held in his hand, Marco’s face seems so small, everything about him seems so easily breakable. It was a far cry to the man he knew today, the one always standing proud right next to Whitebeard, but at the same time, Ace couldn’t help but to compare this child to the man sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched and breathing heavily from nightmares every other night, and found them the same person. These scars he’s seeing now never did heal completely, he knows, and Marco has to live with it to this day.

 

Trapped in his own deep reverie, Ace nearly missed it when the head he cradled shifted and pushed against his palm, but he was immediately alert the moment a pair of - dead, dull, nothing bright like the ones he know so well - eyes flickered from behind bruised yellow eyelids. One of them opened slower than the other, but they were both focused on him silently. The logia froze, rooted on the spot.

 

There’s no recognition in those eyes, no surprise, not a single hint of emotion. They look tired, resigned, too much older than they’re supposed to be.

 

“Marco,” he called out in a soft whisper, trying to smile but found it painful to do so, “You’re awake,”

 

The boy kept staring at him, until chapped and blotched lips moved, letting out from between them a coarse, confused whisper, “Mar… co?”

 

* * *

 

This is what the rest of the commanders and their respective divisions has uncovered, while Ace stayed by Marco’s side to watch over him.

 

The pirate crew that attacked them hailed from West Blue, and before their venture to Grand Line - and the ultimately failed plan to attack a _Yonko_ ship - their last conquest had been raiding a famous scientist’s laboratory in Paradise. They found that the supply they robbed had the ability to shrunk grown men into children, which made abduction and selling them to the auction house even easier. Of course, it wasn’t long until the captain decided random people they came across weren’t enough, and they planned on moving to much more known figures, hoping they’ll get an even higher pay.

 

Children also bid for higher than adults, and a child version of someone infamous would fetch an incredible price. That was what they were promised.

 

When they first attacked Moby, their target had obviously been Pops, but the rain and waves led them to encounter Moby before they had a proper plan. It had gone badly, just as expected, so in a last ditch attempt to still gain something out of it, the captain had obviously seen Marco, not quite a _Yonko,_ yet second only to Whitebeard himself in the crew, and decided he’s good enough as a target.

 

Their plan obviously failed, with every single one of the crew dead except for the man Haruta interrogated, and the moment he was done spilling everything, it was with great vengeance did ‘Swift Saber’ cut his head off, and had his men toss him to the waters to be eaten by the nearest sea king.

 

Locating and contacting the scientist was easy enough. The old woman’s Devil Fruit allowed her to create just about any potion with any desired effect, but with one drawback; everything she created will have a side effect just as strong as the main effect. The concoction that the pirate crew stole was supposed to be her magnum opus, a time travel potion that allows someone to switch places with themselves at the exact age of 5. While she had succeeded on that front, the scientist never managed to work out the side effect; the person who was applied with the potion, the adult self, would not appear in the past, but seems to fall into a limbo of nonexistence. To make things worse, if their position was not reversed in a certain time frame, then the switch would be permanent.

 

In other words, if they don’t hurry, the Marco they all know will disappear, but saving him would mean sending this Marco back to his time, back to the terrible life he led.

 

A small hand curling weakly on his chest brought Ace back to reality, and he looked down to find that he had inadvertently gripped the Marco too hard while listening to Vista’s explanation. He apologized, and the way Marco looked back at him with incomprehension, as if he didn’t understand what the word ‘sorry’ means, hurts him more than he think it could.

 

Turns out Marco’s Devil Fruit was already present at this young age, which means that not long after he regain consciousness, he immediately healed by himself. He had been obviously confused by the lack of handcuff and collar, but had not said a word since he woke up, not to anyone who tried to speak to him and not even to Pops, who looked deeply crestfallen by this. Going with the assumption that his regenerating ability was about the same as the one he has as an adult, the nurses allowed Ace to take him outside, unwilling to leave him alone or simply with anyone but himself.

 

Despite all of their best effort, however, he stayed silent, even fearful to his surrounding. Ace wasn’t sure why he was fine with being held by him and seated on his lap, but figured from the way he shiver that Marco was cold, and he’s good enough as a heater. Guess some things stays the same, after all.

 

“We can talk all about that later,” Thatch spoke on the midst of silence that descended the Commander Meeting room, while each of them tries to digest the recent development, “For now, are you hungry, Marco? You must be, right? You’re all skin and bones, and that’s something a chef like myself cannot stand,” he made his way to a far away table and lifted a hefty looking tray, filled with various assortments of food. The delicious smell that has been filling the room suddenly became stronger as the auburn haired commander made his way over to where Ace sat with Marco, and placed it on the table right in front of the boy.

 

It only took Ace a single glance to realize that all of the food were Marco, the adult Marco’s favorites; Plates filled with cold seafood platter and a bowl of steaming hot seaweed soup were placed right on the front, followed by seasoned summer fish - both cooked and served raw - smoked salmon and roe, assortment of fresh fruit from different seasons - probably digging deep to their reserves - and a mixed bowl of berries. There’s two other bowls on the back, filled to the brim with noodles and rice.

 

The moment they were presented, as if triggering his hunger, Marco’s stomach growled with the sort of intensity you would not expect from a body so small. Something that was usually funny shouldn’t be so heartbreaking, especially when Ace caught sight of his tiny hands curling on his lap until his knuckles turned white.

 

With every eyes in the room on him, Marco sat still, watching the vast selection of food but doing nothing.

 

In front of them, Thatch’s face fell, “Uh, do you… Oh, if you don’t like any of this, it’s not a problem. Just say what you want, and i’ll make it in no time—“

 

“Poison,”

 

The smile on Thatch’s face dropped in a flash, “What?”

 

Marco looked away, eyes pointedly looking anywhere but the array of food that has been presented to him. Just looking at his side profile, Ace could see that the boy was holding himself back with tremendous will, though he could obviously see the telltale glisten of a drool forming on the corner of his small lips, “Poison… make s-sick. I know,”

 

“He means that there would be poison put inside the food specifically to make him sick,” from one corner of the room, Atmos told them quietly, “Back then, the Noble who bought me did the same. They like looking at the slaves fighting each other for food, and then getting tremendously sick and pleading for help. Those who got wise and refused to join in will be whipped and refused food for a days. It’s entertainment for them,”

 

The robust man made his way over to the table, eyes fully focused on Marco, who warily met his stare. With a deep inhale, he turned around and unclasped his armor’s strap, lowering them just enough to reveal the same mark as the one on Marco’s chest. On Ace’s lap, Marco let out a near inaudible gasp, shocked written all over his face.

 

There’s a sound of cloth shifting from the other side of the room, coming from Kingdew, who lifted back his ever-present cape and reveal yet another slave mark. He laughed sardonically, “I didn’t get the _joy_ of having a sadistic owner, but day and night, i worked in a mine, paid only with half loaf of bread and a glass of well water. By the time Pops got me out, all the other slaves were dead, buried under the rubbles when the mine collapsed as a last ditch attempt from the Noble to escape. I was the only one who survived,”

 

“Heh, guess i’m the only one who missed out on the fun,” the mark on Namur’s back wasn’t as stark as the other three exposed ones in the room, but it was clear as daylight the moment he took his shirt off, “I was more of a display than anything else. Back then, fishmen fetched a higher price than they did now, especially one they ripped off from their family while they were just a fingerling like myself. Didn’t know any other life besides posing and looking scared for creepy looking humans until Pops took me in,”

 

Marco’s hand was still shaking on his lap, his disbelief still apparent on his face. When Atmos leaned towards the table with a grim face, he quickly look back up at the division commander, eyes wide, “We’re not… we’re just like you, Marco. There’s no need for you to be scared here. We’re family,”

 

With trepidation, Ace watched as his lover’s child self scanned each person in the room, slowly, assessing, like a hunted animal unsure of the danger it’s in. His hand hadn’t stopped shaking, his knuckles now all white and his veins popping on his wrist. In the end, he looked back down to the table, lips quivering and the drool from earlier dripping out from his lips to his jaw, but he still didn’t make any move to the food.

 

Ace shot his hand out, making the tiny form on his lap jump in surprise, and with his bare hands grabbed a handful of rice from the furthest bowl, stuffing it all, still steaming hot, into his mouth and chew only once before he swallowed it all with some degree of difficulty. With severe, pleading eyes he looked down on a pair of wide blue eyes, “It’s not poisoned, see? I’m not sick. It won’t hurt you, we will never hurt you so please, please just eat, Marco,”

 

Marco looked at him strangely - unfamiliar, and for Ace, that was what hurt the most - lips pursed tightly as he audibly swallowed.

 

By the time he finally reach out for the bowl of seaweed soup and took the first sip, Ace felt like a huge burden was finally lifted off from his body. All around him, the same goes for everyone else in the room.

 

What little tentative sips becomes an over-indulgent gulps, and once he was done with the bowl, Marco moved on to the other plates, grabbing and stuffing them into his mouth not unlike how Ace himself had done it earlier. It was messy and downright savage, and a couple of time, he would cough and choke briefly but never once faltering in gorging down everything laid out for him. The second he started coughing again, Ace could only pat Marco’s back gently, quietly telling him to be careful yet doing nothing to actually stop him.

 

He ate like a person starved their entire life, and seeing that the boy’s waist was only as wide as his palm, that was probably true.

 

Ace heard a sharp inhale and look up to see Thatch with his face scrunched up and a deep flush across his nose and cheek, eyes obviously watery but kept at bay by sheer will. Not that everyone else were any better, and the dark haired male was sure that he himself was no different.

 

They watched Marco ate in silence, too many thoughts running through each of their minds.

 

* * *

 

“What… family?”

 

Ace paused from his scrubbing through Marco’s hair, finding foggy, tired eyes looking up at him inquisitively. He figure the boy felt sleepy with how quiet he was since he finished eating, and he was sure he had been nodding off when Ace had only started washing his hair.

 

“Family?’ the logia scooped a handful of warm water from the bucket next to them, dripping some of it to the bubbly mountain he had made on top of the - temporarily - younger boy, “Well, family’s… family. They’re people who care for you and you care for in return, people who are close to you, people who loved you,” he swallowed, pretending to be distracted by washing the grime off of Marco’s hair when he felt his chest stuttered at what he himself was about to say. In the end, he spoke softly, almost afraid to say it, “People who loved you for who you are,”

 

“Love?”

 

The logia took a deep breath and gaze upon the curious face of a young boy, and he thought right now, he looked like a proper child, with open expression and endless questions, “Yes. Love,” with one sudsy hand, he pushed back a wet golden strand to join in with the pile of bubbles on top of Marco’s head.

 

By the time he was clean and clothed, Marco had fallen asleep as expected. His expression was much more peaceful than it was in the infirmary, not stirring once even when Ace carefully transfer him over to Pops’ awaiting hand. The commander’s toddler form looked even smaller in Whitebeard’s enormous hands, “Thank you Ace,” the captain rumbled lowly as he raised his hand and the precious cargo cupped inside carefully, closer to his face, “And thank you for the report. Jozu and Vista will be taking over for the moment, we’re sailing off to West Blue to pick up the antidote,”

 

Ace gave a noncommittal hum, just to show that he’s at least listening. He licked his lower lips, carefully watching Marco’s slumbering form before speaking, “He doesn’t speak well, does he?”

 

Whitebeard pursed his lips sadly and shook his head, “If what you’re saying is true and this really is Marco from _back then_ ,” his tone shifted oddly, almost contemptuous in their delivery, until it went back to normal in a second, “Then no, he doesn’t. It wasn’t until i took him under my care that anyone would start teaching him something so basic. I’ve always suspected that he’s either born in captivity, or maybe he was captured at a really young age. It’s quite rare to see children who has a Devil Fruit, and that rarity was probably what attracts people to them,”

 

Luffy did, and the thought of his little brother being in Marco’s position made Ace genuinely sick.

 

“He taught himself back then actually, on how to speak and read,” Whitebeard continued, and for the first time since Ace came in, he sounded less heavy hearted and more fond, “Always been a quick learner. I remember only teaching him words and how to string sentences one day, and suddenly he was reading out loud from the newspaper and from navigating books. As a bird zoan, the expertise in direction and navigation probably comes easy to him, but it wasn’t long until i have to rely on him to stir the ship,”

 

Using one large finger, the old man carefully brushed away fallen blonde bangs from the child’s eyes. Ace couldn’t help but smile tightly, watching the obvious care his captain has for his children,“I felt ridiculous back then, out of my depth and not really knowing what i can do for something so small he barely came up to my knee, but i can’t help the great pride in my chest the first time he came up to me and made an entire full sentence. I think i was even moved to tears then,” he chuckled, glancing down at Ace, “Silly, isn’t it?”

 

But the smile soon disappeared, when the giant of a man lowered his hand carefully, offering to Ace to take Marco again. He spoke softly, a whisper that almost sounded like he was talking to himself, “What is a father to do, in times like this, when either way you choose, you risk hurting your own son? You do what you have to do to save him, but at the same time, you can’t help but feel like you’re tossing him back to the lion’s den,”

 

Silently, Ace understood what he meant. Getting Marco back would means sending this one back to his time, but even though they know it was for the best, it won’t make the bitterness on his tongue go away.

 

“We’ll be arriving to our destination in 2 days and no later. The scientist responsible for this de-aging told us that would give her ample time to create an antidote and reverse the effect,” Despite the good news, Whitebeard’s tone was solemn. Once the toddler was safely held in Ace’s hold, the captain looked away, eyes downcast, “Please, make him as comfortable as you possibly can while he’s still here. It is the least we can do for him, if only for a little while,”

 

* * *

 

Around Moby, rain still poured down in torrents, the endless loud noise making it hard to sleep. Not that Ace was sleepy in the first place, which is probably a first.

 

Sitting in Marco’s desk, aimlessly reading through the miscellaneous reports he found there, he suddenly found the appeal of stressing over complicated paperworks over sleeping with your mind full and understood why during those sleepless nights, this would be the first place Marco turned to. For a moment, while endlessly signing and dealing with reports, they made it feel like they’re your only problem in the world, instead of whatever it is festering you from the inside.

 

With a sigh, Ace placed the well worn quill back into the half empty ink pot, but instead of picking up another file to look at, he glanced to the bed, to the small bump on the sheet that hid Marco’s child form. He’s been sleeping for hours, not a stir or a single noise, and deep down, he has to wonder if slaves ever did get enough sleep. Could this be his first peaceful rest in a while, maybe even years, or ever? The thought of it horrified him to no end.

 

“Was this,” the freckled male softly muttered to thin air, addressing the Marco that was not here and yet is at the same time, “Was this what you think would disgust me?” He didn’t feel indignant or angry if it was the case, since the very moment he learned what caused such a child to be so battered in the first place, he just felt sad. That was a life he never get to outgrow to this day, kept him awake at night for years, and maybe no one else but Ace ever truly knows about it.

 

There’s a flash of lightining from outside of the window, and that was his only warning when seconds later a loud boom of thunder could be heard, shocking even Ace at the intensity. He didn’t quite have time to be surprised, however, when he heard a sharp gasp from the bed and quickly, without thinking, he rushed over pulling a panting and gasping Marco into his arms, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s just the thunder,”

 

“Loud,” the boy flailed against his hold, voice quivering in fright, “L-loud,”

 

“I know, i know, but it’s okay, it won’t happen aga—“ He hasn’t even finished saying it when there’s another flash followed by an even sharper, louder crack. Marco let out a muffled yell, his face pressed against Ace’s chest and little hands trying hard to reach on to anything they can grab hold of. Right above them, probably from the direction of the deck, Ace could hear muffled shouts, possibly from the helmsmen and deckhand trying their best to steer through the storm. It was something he was used to and often times he should be up there as well, but the added voices did little to calm the shaking child in his arms.

 

Finally, he decided to climb on to the bed fully, laying down against the headboard and pulling Marco to lay down sideways on his torso with his head on his chest. The blonde boy immediately latch on to him, grabbing on to his shoulder and the arms Ace wrapped around his tiny body to secure him in place, eyes cautiously watching the window on the far away wall, “It’s just the rain now, Marco. It’ll be alright,”

 

“R-rain?”

 

“Yeah, the water falling down from the sky,” Has he ever seen one before? Has he ever been told what they are? “As long as we’re here, we’ll be fine,”

 

“Don’t… d-don’t like.. r-r-rain,”

 

At that, Ace can’t help but smile. Maybe that really is something all Devil Fruit user have in common, “Me neither. It’s wet, uncomfortable, a bit cold, it made my skin sizzle,” his smile slowly faded, and he held on to Marco a little bit tighter, “And bad things always happened whenever it rained in Grand Line,”

 

He felt Marco staring up at him curiously. But Ace kept his lips pressed shut, holding the tiny, warm body even closer against his chest.

 

 _“Rain, rain go away, come again another day,”_ the logia lifted one hand, high enough to tangle them through blonde locks, smoothing out the knots that he could not make disappear during their bath earlier, “ _I want to go out and play, rain, rain go away,”_

 

Marco winced when he tried to pry out a particularly tangled strand, and as an apology, Ace leaned down and pressed a gentle peck to the top of his forehead. It was something he would do to _his_ Marco, with him laying his head on Marco’s chest while the older would read a report or another, and sometimes he would find a particularly nasty knot, which he tried to take care off none too gently. Marco would pinch him to stop or duck down, and Ace would chase after him that they’ll ended up rolling around on the bed, report and hair forgotten as they kissed and held on to each other.

 

It’s not even a day and he realized he already missed the adult Marco. He wanted to meet him again and tell him he knows now and he will never think any differently of him, will never think of him as revolting. He wanted to say that he knows of the nightmares, wanted to apologize for never saying anything, he want to hold on to his Marco and tell him he now understood. And he wanted to tell him what _he_ himself has been hiding all this time, because it was only fair that he did.

 

Because he trusted Marco. Trust, love, and he missed him something terrible.

 

_“Rain, rain go away, come again another day, i want to go out and play, rain, rain go away,”_

 

_“R-rain, rain go— go away…,”_

 

A thin smile bloomed on Ace’s lips, “That’s right, that’s how it goes,”

 

Marco stared at him in wary silence, but then his lips twitched and he gave Ace a barely there smile, as if trying to replicate his own, _“Rain, rain, g-go away…,”_

 

 _“…Come again another day,”_ Ace’s breath hitched, the same time as he felt a prickle on the back of his eyes. He closed them and leaned his forehead against Marco’s own, feeling thin, wiry arms trying to reach around his neck, _“We want to go out and play, rain, rain, go away,”_

 

As they fell asleep holding on to each other, the rain turned into light drizzle, before it completely disappeared.


	2. Stormy Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Guiltily shifts foot* Soooo, it WAS supposed to be a 2 parter, but then it got… long. And the ending is basically a semi-epilogue.story resolution so, yeah. I swear the next chap is the last one, ok?
> 
> Enjoy?

 

The twinkling look of wonder in a child’s eyes truly is something else.

 

Ace wondered just how it is that he could feel pity seeing that, but it was the only thing he could muster when Marco suddenly stopped on his tracks, eyes wide and lips parted as he gaze upon the blue sky. The rain had stopped sometime last night, and as if taking back its reign above the sky in full vengeance, the sun shone down brightly and cheerfully, enveloping the entire deck with its shine.

 

With staggering steps - even though he has no injuries, Marco’s legs were extremely weak, and he didn’t want to think about the implication - the boy slowly let go of his hand, walking as if in a trance to the front of the ship. Several times, he almost tripped over the hem of Ace’s shirt, worn in absence of any children clothing on board, and he actually stumbled down before Ace could get to him, but instead of minding the pain it must’ve caused him, he kept looking upwards.

 

“Marco!” Ace called in panic, rushing over to the boy’s side to help him get up and check him for any injury. He had a little scrape on his knee, one that immediately disappear with the appearance of blue flame. The commander sighed in relief, and was about to tell Marco to be careful when he saw the young boy raising one hand, pointing at the large blue expanse above them. He let out a small sound, wordless and yet full of amazement.

 

“It’s the sky, my boy,” a deep rumble sounded from behind him and suddenly, there’s a much larger hand than Ace’s placed on Marco’s other shoulder and back, “Beautiful, isn’t it? So blue and calming,”

 

“S-sky,” the child repeated, turning first to Whitebeard looking for confirmation, before he turned to Ace still with wide eyes, awestruck, “Ace, sky!”

 

When Ace couldn’t return the same amount of enthusiasm, his excitement dimmed. But how could he? He just learned that Marco never saw the sky, let alone know its name. Him, a bird zoan, whose nature longs to soar in the open air above them. The Marco he knows had always enjoyed flying as much as he enjoys sailing, telling him once that he loved the freedom it gave him and the feeling of wind underneath his wings.

 

He always chalked it up all this time for Marco’s Phoenix’s instinct, but perhaps it ran deeper than he thought.

 

“Ace,” the call for his name, made him turn to Whitebeard, who looked at him with solemn eyes, as if he knows what he was thinking. He flicked his eyes to Marco, still looking expectantly at Ace with his brows furrowed and lips downturned.

 

With a shallow inhale, Ace pursed his lips and tightly formed a smile, “Yeah, it’s the sky,”

 

Marco was still looking at him with uncertainty, until Whitebeard tapped on his shoulder and gained his attention, “Do you want to look at them closer?” he asked kindly, offering his other hand. His offer was taken with little hesitation, and with ease, Marco was hoisted to Whitebeard’s shoulder, “There you go, son, just right— oh, careful now, you’ll fall like that. Ah, there you go,”

 

Watching from the side, it didn’t escape Ace’s notice the way Whitebeard approached and treat this younger Marco was with familiarity. He was told once that the blonde was the first person to join the crew years ago, but from what the captain told him yesterday, it would seem that it was less him joining and more that he was saved by Whitebeard and stayed ever since. Was it like this too, nearly 30 years ago?

 

Is that why when Marco looked away, Whitebeard looked so melancholic? The way he spoke of Marco’s childhood yesterday was full of pain and regret, does it hurt seeing him like this the second time around, to see the past in flesh in front of him again?

 

“S-s-sun…?”

 

“That’s right, that is the sun. It wasn’t there yesterday because of the rain,”

 

“Don’t l-like rain,”

 

“Ah, yes, you never did like them, did you, my boy?”

 

“No. Rain… _Rain, rain go away, c-come— come ag-again…,come again ‘nother d-day,”_

 

The captain looked mildly confused, though his gaze held the fondness and pride of a parent, “What a nice song, Marco. Where did you learn that?”

 

Marco glanced down to Ace with an unsure gaze. Whitebeard followed his line of sight, and suddenly Ace felt embarrassed and under scrutiny, his face steadily growing hot, “He can’t sleep last night, because of the storm,” he explained, hands wringing behind his back, “It’s the first thing that came to my mind. My brother used to sing it back when we were kids whenever it rained,”

 

Whitebeard let out a laugh, sounding pleased and amused, “Well, i’ll say the song works quite well, doesn’t it? The rain did go away,”

 

On his shoulder, Marco suddenly stood up, holding on to Pops’ ear and collar to do so, before pointing skyward. Ace tilted his head up, trying to find what else he was pointing to when Whitebeard beat him to the punch, “Ah, birds. With the weather calming down, they’ll start flying again,”

 

“Bird,” Marco parroted with the same amazed tone.

 

The group of avians he was staring at flew past their ship, chirping and gliding past Moby’s tall mast. The white mailman hat give them away as News Coos, and like always, one of them dove low, tossing an entire bundle of rolled up newspapers on top of the deck, which was picked up by one of the nearest crew member and brought inside. The bird gave them a sharp chirp before flying off again to join the flock, slowly disappearing from sight.

 

In a blink of eye, Marco’s arms formed blue fiery wings, much smaller and leaner than how they would become in his adulthood and before anyone can say anything, he started flapping them, obviously copying the News Coos.

 

He leapt off from Whitebeard’s shoulder, the motion far less graceful than how his adult counterpart would, yet instead of gaining momentum, he suddenly plummeted down.

 

“Marco!”

 

Without thinking, Ace ran and jumped, snatching the quickly falling body mid air and rolling his body so that he fell first on his back. He felt his breath knocked out of him at the impact, his head spinning from the suddenness of his own action and all around, he could hear shocked gasp and calls for his and Marco’s name. He ignored the sounds and his own pain, frantically looking down to his own chest and felt relief washing over him when Marco seemed unharmed.

 

Physically, at least. The boy looked like he’s in a state of shock.

 

Until his face scrunched up, looking entirely upset and probably close to crying.

 

“Hey…,”

 

Marco reached out and wrapped his arms around Ace’s neck, burying his face on the crook of his shoulder. The commander could feel trembling little hands pulling on the hair on his nape, causing a hard tug inside his chest. He’s scared, that much is obvious, so wordlessly, Ace patted the boy’s back gently, shushing him, “It’s okay, i got you now,”

 

“C-can’t fly…,” he heard muttered to his shoulder, “Can’t fly,”

 

“Flying takes a while to master, my boy,” Whitebeard’s voice came from somewhere behind them, when the man reached down and helped Ace to stand up with one hand, “It took you— It takes months of practice, but eventually, you’ll be able to do it. It’s your power, after all,”

 

Instead of answering in any way, Marco kept holding on to him, tugging on to his hair tightly.

 

“Want... want to fly,”

 

* * *

 

Marco was still upset come breakfast, so in order to cheer him up, Thatch offered to bring him to the kitchen and show him how ‘the magic works’. Ace had wanted to come along when he was pulled back to the dining room by Izou, and seated right between Haruta and Vista, “Thatch, Atmos and Curiel can take him, Ace, take a break for yourself,”

 

“I don’t need a break,” and especially not from Marco of all people.

 

“Fine, but we do need to talk to you,” the crossdressing commander replied, sternly crossing his arms in front of his chest even though his voice was a lot more patient and sympathetic than his pose made it out, “It’s about Marco. The other commanders had a meeting this morning, we’ll be arriving at Cheynol Isles tomorrow noon the latest to meet with Doctor Nuclea. She called us this morning from Den Den Mushi and told us more about her experiment that caused this entire situation,”

 

“The gist of it is, like we established yesterday, it’s a time travel potion that sent Marco at 5 years old to our time, while ours is gone instead of changing places with his younger self. We didn’t think too much of it, but this means there is no one on the other end on this kid Marco’s timeline, and that simple change could be detrimental to the existing time line,” Haruta’s voice was somber, dejected and concerned, his short bangs covering half of his eyes as he bowed his head, “Right now, we don’t really feel it and probably nothing did change since he’s… well, slaves aren’t really known to be cared for whether they live or die, are they?”

 

When Ace’s back tensed up, the brunet apologized and fell silent once more, and with a sigh, Vista continued on for him, “She had a long speech about why she thinks she couldn’t send our Marco to that time, but none of it was really important. But one important thing she did mention is that the universe itself might try to balance things out, and that was why it will only be a matter of time that Marco disappear. There can only be one in the timeline,”

 

“And it’s not just about that. This Marco doesn’t belong to this time,” Izou added quietly, “Anything could happen to him should he stay here longer, and we can’t take that risk,”

 

“So we have to quickly get Marco back and send his kid self back to his own time, i get it,” he’s snippy, and they don’t deserve his attitude when they’re only helping and just as concerned as he was, but Ace’s can’t help it. He knows all of this since yesterday, knows that after everything he did to take care of this child Marco— of this battered, tortured, confined _child who doesn’t even know what the skies look like,_ he’s going to have to send him back to that miserable life.

 

A hand was placed on his back, caressing up and down his spine, “We just wanted to warn you on what’s going to happen. Pops… Pops told us too last night after you and Marco left, to make him as happy as he possibly could before he had to leave. It’s not fair to any of us, Ace, but, maybe he doesn’t need to know after all,”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Think about it, does Marco even know what’s going on right now? He just woke up one day and he’s suddenly surrounded by strangers who probably treated him better in one day than anyone he ever seen in his life. We can’t just tell him,” Vista’s voice choked out, and he excused himself to take a deep breath before continuing, “We can’t just tell him that all of this is temporary,”

 

“If he even understood what ‘temporary’ even mean,” Haruta added quietly behind him.

 

Ace knows what they’re implying, but his chest felt tight and his throat felt dry as he voiced out, “You want to just send him back without saying anything,”

 

Vista and Haruta were silent. It was Izou who spoke up, tone grave, “What choice do we have? He’s just a kid, it’ll be less painful this way,”

 

“And what, you think he’ll just forget about it? Kids felt hurt too, kids can feel betrayed too! You want him to suddenly wake up back in whatever hellhole he came from without any of us, no explanation whatsoever?” Plenty of people were starting to look his way, but Ace didn’t care. His temper flared faster than his fire could, face twisted in an ugly scowl, “Is that what you’re telling me?”

 

“He won’t remember,”

 

Ace turned to Izou, who had spoken, teeth gritted, “What do you mean?”

 

The kimono-clad man sighed, reaching up to fix a loose strand of hair and resolutely not looking at him, “You remember how the doctor’s Devil Fruit has a side effect? That’s what i mean, and the last part we haven’t told you. She already made the antidote, but it won’t just take him back, it would also erase this Marco’s memory caused by the effect of the potion the antidote counters. It’s a side effect, but she believed this to be better for him,” he fell silent, before adding with a shake of his head, “He’s not going to remember any of us either way,”

 

There’s a lump in Ace’s throat, one that once swallowed, it felt like it fell to his stomach and become heavier than a ton of lead. His voice quivers as he spoke, breaking right in the middle, “He… he’s not going to remember?”

 

So he won’t remember any of this? He won’t remember Moby and everyone on board, won’t remember Thatch’s food and the kindness of fellow slaves like Atmos, Kingdew and Namur, won’t remember Haruta teaching him how to use a spoon or the First Division members who talked to him last night? He won’t remember Pops teaching him about the sky and sitting on his shoulder, and he won’t remember Ace at all?

 

Marco won’t remember that even for a while, there are people who loved and cared for him?

 

It was only Vista’s hand guiding him to slowly sit back down to stop him from falling over, knees weak and breath shuddering. Is it truly a good thing, like Izou said? Maybe it’ll hurt less if he doesn’t remember. After all, eventually that Marco will be the adult Marco, right? He’ll get out of that place courtesy of Pops, he’ll lead a better life. Things would turn out alright for him.

 

But even to this day, Marco could never forget that part of his past. To this day, many years later, he still woke up in cold sweat, the memory was still tender and painful, and no one to comfort him in his moment of terror. Not even Ace.

 

The one time he could, the one time there are people who was there for him, and Marco won’t even remember it?

 

“That… that’s just—“

 

The loud creaking sound and Thatch’s voice piercing the relative silence in the room made him stop, and Ace look up to the direction of the door leading to the kitchen to find Atmos holding the door open and Thatch exiting, eyes trained at something behind him. It wasn’t long until he was trailed by Marco, or at least, a plate full of food with a pair of legs similar to Marco’s.

 

“Now you remember what to say?” Ace could hear Thatch say as he and Marco made their way over to the table he’s occupying, Atmos and Curiel trailing behind them. He couldn’t see or hear the boy’s answer, but Thatch lit up and let out a jolly, “Great! Now, just like i taught you, kiddo,”

 

The three adults came to a stop just a few feet away from the table but Marco kept walking, staggering slightly and nearly tripping over himself as he reach up to the tabletop with his tiptoes to put the plate. Vista caught him on time, lifting him up to stand on the swordsman’s thigh. He was smiling, though the shadows of gloominess from their interrupted conversation was still evident in his eyes, “Ho, ho, that’s a lot of food you got there, Marco. You’re going to finish all of it?”

 

Marco shook his head, strands of blond hair swaying along with the motion, “No,” he turned around - with Vista’s help and lifted the plate once more, before offering it to Ace, thrusting with some level of difficulty - it did look pretty heavy - to the logia, “Ace, give to Ace,”

 

The logia only stared at the plate silently, frozen in place.

 

With furrowed brows, Marco cocked his head to Thatch’s direction, receiving a thumbs up in return. With his lips pressed thin, he leaned over even more, causing some of the sauce from the plate to drip off on the table and some to Ace’s pants, “Thatch say, Thatch say Ace like food, so i give food for thang— thank you,” the boy bit his lips nervously, and he peeked shyly from behind the mountain on the plate, “Um, thank you, Ace,”

 

Gingerly, Ace took the plate off from Marco before it could tip off and spill everything, placing it back to the table.

 

Then he pulled Marco none too gently, startling a yelp out of the boy and held on to the tiny, warm body with all of his might, face buried behind narrow, thin shoulder.

 

Nobody said a word, not even when he accidentally let out an audible shuddering breath in the midst of the now quiet room.

 

“A-ace…?” small hand wounded itself around his hair, pulling slightly, “…Don’t like?”

 

“No, that’s not it, i like it a lot,” he spoke in low whisper, ignoring the incessant urge that caused his eyes to sting, that made him bit his lip so hard that he was sure they’re bleeding now. It won’t do any good to show how upset he is to Marco, he doesn’t want to show his face right now to the boy, “Just, just let me stay like this for a while, okay? Let me hold you like this for a while,”

 

* * *

 

There has never been a time in his life where the sunset could be such a daunting sight, and yet from the top of the bird’s nest, he can’t help but feeling nothing but trepidation at the sight of the sun slowly disappearing in the horizon.

 

At least Marco didn’t share his anxiety. He’s been standing on the stool left for anyone who’s on guard duty, holding and peering over the edge to watch the sigh of passing time. Ace stood right behind him, holding on to the young boy to keep him stable and make sure he won’t do the same mistake as before. Jumping off from Pops’ shoulder is one thing, but if anything happened to Marco because he was too absorbed in his own thoughts, Ace didn’t think he’d be able to ever forgive himself.

 

“Sun… go away?”

 

“It will when night time comes. It’ll come back tomorrow morning,”

 

Below them, everyone was minding their own businesses, life goes on as usual. At least, it was the illusion maintained well enough by thousands of adults who knows what is going to happen once the sun rose once again. He wasn’t blind to the look of pity sent to his back when he climbed up here, knows so many people had seen him close to breaking down in the dining area this afternoon and thought it wise to let him have his own private moment with this Marco.

 

Maybe that wasn’t fair of him to be acting like this. The decision by the commanders wasn’t the easiest thing to do. He hadn’t seen Pops the entire day ever since they met this morning on the deck, but he knew their captain was hit the hardest by this. He overheard one of the passing nurses saying they were forbidden from entering Whitebeard’s room for the day, with the instruction to leave any food or medicine he need to take in front of the door. One of them peeked inside and saw the captain drinking before they left him alone.

 

They are all equally wrapped in their own sorrow, but it’s better them than Marco. The boy had had enough pain in his life, and tomorrow, they’d have no choice but to return him to that life.

 

It was all for the sake of their brother, the one they know. So then why does it hurt so much to think about it?

 

“Ace?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

The ship’s future First Mate’s turned around carefully, tilting his head upwards to meet Ace’s eyes. He looked conflicted, one hand gripping on to his wrist, “Tomorrow, i… i can fly?”

 

Ace’s breath hitched, lips pulled to scowl.

 

Marco’s eyes widened, lips trembling and suddenly, he was struggling in Ace’s hold, backing himself to the bird’s nest’s border, “N-no, i won’t ask again, won’t ask again, please, please,”

 

It was the sheer amount of fear in those simple words that finally made him realize, and immediately Ace knelt down, making it so he would be the one who has to look up to Marco and grabbed both of the boy’s hands in his hold, “No, no, Marco, no, i’m not angry at you. I promise, i’m sorry i scared you, i didn’t mean to,”

 

What kind of life makes you this fearful over asking an innocent question? What kind of child hold that much fear in their eyes?

 

The kind of life that sticks to you for years on end, even after it is all over. And that child would be a child who would grow up having nightmares his entire life, forever bearing all of his scars, both visible and invisible to the eyes.

 

Ace gathered Marco in his arms, holding him close and caressing his hair as he brought the two of them to sit down against the pillar in the middle of the nest, “Hey,” he called softly against a head of blonde, “Do you want to see something cool?”

 

Slowly, warily, he could feel Marco nodding against his shoulder. Ace loosened his grip, allowing the young boy to turn to his side and rest his head against his shoulder as he brought up his free arm and extended it in front of him, “Okay, watch closely,” he said, before letting fire crawl out of his skin, lighting up his arm from the shoulder down to the tip of his fingers. The flame was gentle, barely wisps licking out from his pores, basking it in the colour that compliments the gradient on the sky.

 

Instead of excitement, Marco let out a muffled yell, moving backwards, frantically trying to get away, “No! That… that hurt! That hurt the most! Please, Ace, please, no!”

 

He extinguished the fire faster than he ever summoned them, cursing himself for his stupidity as he tried to calm Marco’s sudden panicked reaction. Fuck, hadn’t he seen that some of the scars on Marco’s body yesterday had been burn marks? Even the slave mark on his chest could only be caused by none other than extreme heat, he should’ve realized that to this Marco, fire was bad omen and could only cause pain.

 

His Marco had always complimented his fire, both for the devastation they can cause or simply Ace’s mastery of it, and in their moment of privacy, he would say it was one of things that attracted him to Ace, describing it as an inexplicable feeling of comfort and serenity. He would say the same of Marco’s own flames, that despite their lack of destructive capability, they exude power and protection. It made a strong man even stronger, and they way they would mingle, blue against red, there has never been a sight more beautiful and not even their most private moment gave the same sense of intimacy.

 

He thought at the very least, he could share something that special for him and his Marco with this child one. But of course, he can’t even do that.

 

After a while, Marco finally gone still, his body stopped shaking and his little cries has stopped. Ace sat dejected and angry, to himself, to whoever from Marco’s past responsible for the horrors in his lover’s life, to circumstances that led to all of this happening.

 

In his deep muling, he failed to see a small hand reaching out, until he felt a weak poke against his arm.

 

The logia looked down to find Marco gazing at his arm warily, whispering, “Ace fire… can hurt?”

 

He tightened his hold around the boy’s waist, “Yes, but never to you. I would never hurt anyone that i love,”

 

Marco kept staring at him, brows furrowed at the last word he uttered in incomprehension. The way his eyes lit up at least, shows that he understood it’s nothing bad, and bravely reach out for the older male’s arm again, tracing the hard lines of muscle, waiting.

 

Carefully, as not to startle the boy again, Ace let the fire start from his upper arms, letting it trail down to his elbow before it continues on to his wrist and hand, keeping as small as he possibly could manage. He watched as Marco extended his hand, hovering above the tendrils of fire to test the heat, and as he put his hand even closer, blue flame licks started appearing from his own hand. Skittish as a mouse, he tapped on the surface of Ace’s arm, bypassing the heat and when he suddenly turned with wide eyes and big smile, Ace was caught off guard.

 

“’s warm,” was said with no small amount of wonder, “Warm, like Ace!”

 

Gaining the courage, he started running his hand through the length of the commander’s arm, squeezing here and there curiously and finally reaching the base of Ace’s hand, just right between his palm and wrist. The fire there was significantly larger, on account of habit, but Marco kept venturing until his own small palm was pressed against Ace’s much bigger one. It was funny how small Marco’s hand was compared to his right now, when that hand used to be larger, with lithe finger that lost to Ace’s in terms of width but not length.

 

And there, is what he meant. The moment blue found red, the coolness of Marco’s fire to his heat, the power to destroy and the power to heal, none that can conquer the other and all they do was dance around each other. Joined to be one. A vivid display of beauty, deserving of one another, pulled by each other, holding trust that one could not be harmed and the other would not be extinguished.

 

Just how it’s supposed to be between them.

 

And just like that, he knows what to do. What needs to be done.

 

* * *

 

When Marco fell asleep that night on his chest, there’s a small smile on his lips, blissfully unaware of his fate.

 

Ace pressed a long kiss to the top of his head, humming Luffy’s song, ignoring his hitched breaths and watery eyes.

 

Outside, on the distance, he could hear the rumbling of thunder, and wasn’t even remotely surprised.

 

* * *

 

Cheynol Isles is hidden behind two major port towns, deceptively small and barren when the real treasure was placed right in the heart of it. Jiru commented that the entire place reminded him of something out of an account about Doctor Vegapunk’s laboratory, or the sort of cheesy description in a science fiction book. Marco looked wary, occasionally hiding his face on Ace’s shoulder as they ventured even deeper into the forest. Obviously, the lack of light made him like this, but Ace can’t help to think that he understood something bad is going to happen.

 

Doctor Nuclea was an old refined woman, with the posture of a regal woman that would’ve been more suited to wear luxurious dresses and lives in a castle rather than an old blanched lab coat in the middle of nowhere. As it is however, her authority over her territory was uncontested, when she met Whitebeard with her head held high and a displeased look on her face, “I did not expect one of my work to be causing so much trouble out there because of those demented pirates. This is why i hate them. If your reputation hadn’t preceded you, Whitebeard, i would’ve deny you too,”

 

“And i appreciate that you’re willing to help us, doctor,” The giant captain diplomatically replied and gave the commanders who came with him a brief glance. Knowing what he’s asking for, Ace stepped out of the small crowd, ignoring the curious look Marco gave him.

 

The doctor gave him a once over before turning her attention to the reason why they’re there, sharp eyes calculative, “Impressive. I haven’t had the concoction tested out - nobody seems willing to be a test subject anymore these days - so this is truly fascinating to see,” she reached down to the messenger back she had on her side, fishing out a small bottle that Ace vaguely remember to be the same shape as the one that was thrown at Marco.

 

She handed it to Ace, “Have him take all of it, to the very last drop. And hurry, i don’t know at what point does this entire thing messed up the timeline, or how much longer his adult self has left,”

 

Ace eyed the bottle in his hand blankly, and without a word, he gently placed Marco down. The boy obediently stood on the ground, with one hand still clinging on to Ace’s hand while warily glancing at the forest behind them. Ace wanted to tell him that the thing he needed to fear was not the gloomy forest but rather this small thing he had in his hand, and by extension, Ace himself, who felt like he was about to commit the worst thing in his life.

 

“Marco,” he called softly, kneeling in front of the young zoan and giving him the small bottle to hold. Marco took it with a confused look, gripping it on both hands.

 

“Ace?”

 

The dark haired male took in a shuddering breath, clasping both of Marco’s hand into both of his own. He glanced at Pops and Doctor Nuclea, wordlessly wishing for a moment alone with Marco. He had said before they arrived that he will be the one to do this, despite his fellow commanders insisting to help. It would’ve been easier that way, that he won’t have to hold the burden himself, but he owed Marco this.

 

Whitebeard nodded solemnly, and muttered to the doctor to follow him, who protested about staying for research until the captain gave her a stern, commanding look. Finally, she raised both arms in defeat, and walked away with him, to where the rest was waiting just a few feet away.

 

He didn’t pay them any more attention, turning back to Marco and tried to muster a smile, even though it hurts doing so, “Can i tell you a story?”

 

“S-story? What.. story?”

 

“A story about a man, a really great man,” it was easier to smile now, melancholic as it is, when the form of said man appear in his mind, “When he was your age, he was hurt really bad by so many bad people. Every day, people hurt him in so many ways, so badly. He has so many scars, maybe he cried every day, or just feel sad,” There’s tenseness in Marco’s eyes the moment he heard the word ’hurt’, and his hands in Ace’s own began to curl inward. With a thumb, Ace massaged the back of his small hand, trying to give him what little comfort he can give now, “Until one day, it’s not like that anymore,”

 

The wind blew, and the grey sky seems to be become darker above them. It’s going to rain soon, Ace knows. Fitting.

 

What starts with the rain might end with one as well.

 

“A very nice man saved him one day from the bad people. This man would give him home, teach him so many things, including flying,” Marco’s entire face perked up at the mention of flying, and Ace couldn’t help but smile. Even as he felt the first prickle in his eyes, “Together, they sail the seas for a very long time. Other people started joining too, many, many people, and every single one of them becomes this man’s family,”

 

“Fam-family…,”

 

Ace nodded, “Yeah. Family. They all care about each other, fight together, have fun together, they all do everything together, nothing can separate them. Like a family should,”

 

The wind blew stronger, and somewhere, there’s a rumbling up the sky. He could hear someone mutter behind him, low enough he couldn’t catch what they say, and he didn’t try to find out.

 

“This man becomes a really strong man. Everyone likes him, everyone look up to him. He’s always so brave, so proud, he’s a really great man,” Ace’s smile faded, and he bowed his head down, “But the thing is, sometimes, the great man can still feel sad. The bad people who hurt him never leaves his mind, and because of it, he can’t sleep, he can’t have fun, and sometimes, when no one is looking, he can also cry and feel scared,”

 

A strong back that wasn’t always so strong, one that faces him to hide away the face of a broken man. A back that he wished he can reach out to, that he can pull to his embrace and receive one in return to calm his own fears and worries.

 

“Marco,” the blonde boy stumbled a little when Ace pulled him close, so close that their foreheads touch, “I love that great man. I love him so much, he and his family gave me a family. He gave me love, me, someone who doesn’t deserve it, and he gave me the kind of happiness i didn’t think i could ever have. All i wanted was to repay him,”

 

Marco was silent, his hand twitching every now and then, but gave little else. He looked up when Ace calls his name again, blue meets grey. The commander took in a shuddering breath, tightening his hold on the tiny hands and the bottle, “Marco, your place isn’t here. Someone else is supposed to be here, with us. And we missed him so much. I missed him so much,” with heavy heart, Ace lifted their hands, gesturing to the bottle, “But to get him back, we have to let you go,”

 

Suddenly, the curiousity and childishness behind those blue eyes disappeared, and the look on Marco’s face was one of anguished fear, “L-let… go?”

 

Ace stomach churned painfully as he nodded, and he felt his heart clenching when the first tear drop fell from Marco’s eyes. He hadn’t cried at all in the days they had him, not when he thought he was being poisoned, not when he was scared, but right now, it was Ace who finally caused them to be shed. His little lips quivers and his breathing turned erratic, “I… I go back?”

 

The way he said _back,_ as if it was his worst nightmare, made Ace’s breath hitched, “I’m so sorry, Marco,”

 

“No, please, don’t want to go back,” little hands scrambled to grasp his, shaking and even sweating, “Hurts, always hurts. Don’t… don’t want…don’t want to go back. Want to… w-want to s-s-stay,”

 

Somewhere behind them, Ace could hear someone swearing loudly, emotionally, and he wished he could so the same.

 

Fat tear drops fell from Marco’s eyes to his jaw, already drenching his cheeks. His entire face was red and his eyes so lost, unable to believe why this is happening, wishing it wasn’t ture, “Please? Please, Ace. Want to stay, please?”

 

When he sensed that Ace wouldn’t budge, Marco started looking behind them, to the commanders and especially to Pops, repeating the same words over and over again, “Please, it hurts. Don’t like— don’t want to go back. Don’t want hurt, no more hurt, please…,” when no one would answer him, the moment Ace saw the commanders even started looking away, Marco’s cried became even worse, his knees shaking and he squeezed his eyes shut, but even that couldn’t stop his tears.

 

As the first of Ace’s own tear fell, he pulled the boy into an embrace, feeling Marco torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer, still begging in between sobs and chokes.

 

Ace held him as the wind picked up and the sky gradually darkened even more, until Marco’s tears stopped and his body was limp in his hold. His little sobs would echo in Ace’s mind for years to come, along with the guilt, the pain, the hatred for the necessity.

 

“Marco?” he whispered finally, hearing his own voice breaking and an imaginary lump forming in his throat, “Can i tell you something else?”

 

The body in his arm was unresponsive at first, but in the end, he could feel a tiny nod.

 

“You know the great man in my story? The one that i love?” Marco nodded again, with a little squeaked hum that sounded painfully resigned, “Well, it’s actually you,”

 

The hand clutching on to him went lax, and Ace felt him pushing away, enough so they can see face to face again. Marco’s eyes, bloodshot and still streaming down tears were fully focused on him.

 

At the sight a large smile blooms on Ace’s face, and he chuckled, bringing a hand up to wipe the tears off that poor little face, “You will grow up to be a great man, surrounded by so many people who you love and loves you back. They will never let anything hurt you, they will become your family, and you will never be alone anymore. Everyday, you will be free, you’ll soar the skies with your wings, you’ll never let anyone hurt someone you care about,” with the last tear wiped off, Ace framed the side of Marco’s face, still so small and delicate, but now he could see the shadows of similarities, “And you’re the man i will love and cherish with all my heart,”

 

Slowly, he let his hand slid down, once again cupping Marco’s hands and the bottle held in between, “But now is not your time,” he whispered, “One day, you’ll meet us again, and by then, you’d know more about family, about love, and you’ll even know how to fly,” he let out a wet chuckle, broken by his own sob, “And when that day comes, we will welcome you with open arms, and you’ll be back home with us. I promise you that. You just need to hold on,”

 

There’s still tremendous sadness in Marco’s eyes, hesitation and unwillingness, but his moved his hands, still holding on to the bottle, clutching them tightly. Reluctantly, and with a shuddering breath, he started prying on the lid, and after a while, it was finally opened.

 

Despite all of his words, when Marco lifted the bottle to his lips, it was Ace who wanted to stop him, who wanted to swipe the damned thing away and let the doctor’s hard work be wasted. He’ll still have his Marco one day, he can wait, but this time, this one doesn’t have to suffer. He won’t have to endure who knows how much longer he still has of that life until Pops found him, maybe he’ll have a better life, and maybe he would never have nightmares ever again.

 

But then Marco looked up, and all words died in Ace’s tongue, “Ace?”

 

“Yes, Marco?”

 

Another drop of tear fell from the corner of the child’s eyes, but he was smiling serenely, smiling in the face of fear, and Ace felt he didn’t deserve to even see it, “See you?”

 

A choked sob left him, and now it was Ace who was crying, tears blurring his vision and his body trembling, “I’ll see you again, Marco,”

 

The potion was downed in a single gulp.

 

He was quick enough to catch Marco’s body as it fell limp all of the sudden, the boy’s eyes closed and his lips slightly parted, drops from the potion still evident on his lips. His entire body felt numb, unresponsive.

 

Above them, the thunder struck once more, and suddenly, the heavens opened, pouring down on top of them.

 

But even the loudest storm couldn’t quell the sound of Ace’s cries, holding Marco’s still body tightly and never wanting to let go.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A scene from Chapter 1 as depicted by Shekilaria, thank you so much for this, it's so adorable ;;;;;; https://sta.sh/02fzefjz8bo
> 
> Well, hope you'd enjoy!

 

When he opened his eyes, there was nothing but darkness around him, but he could still see the familiar sight of cage, the coldness of rocky grounds under his body, and the unbearable stench of rotting human flesh. He’s back again in his cage, back in this hellish life.

 

He told himself for a long time now, he won’t cry. He won’t give his captors and torturers the satisfaction. No matter how bad it was, he can’t cry.

 

And he won’t. He has to hold on.

 

Just like he’s been told to do.

 

* * *

 

They tortured him for even longer than usual, demanding him to tell them where he had escaped to and how he could appear again in his cage. When he won’t tell them anything, they hurt him even more, throwing everything they had until each men in the room was left panting and out of energy. He passed out 4 times and during the last time, it took him a while to wake up again after they took off his new cuffs to heal, but he still kept his mouth shut.

 

He won’t tell them. He won’t have that beautiful hope be tainted by these men.

 

He’ll hold on through the pain, because Ace, Pops and everyone promised it’ll be worth it, and he believed them.

 

-

 

It rained one day, and the only reason he knew was because the rainwater dripped into the jail they were kept in, and even when the water has submerged most of the floor, no one came to check.

 

In the midst of worried whispers from other slaves, he sat in his little cage and hummed a familiar tune, hugging himself in lieu of another pair of arms that always seems to bring warmth.

 

They’re not the same, he knew, but for a second, he can pretend.

 

* * *

 

He lost count of the day he woke up again in this little cage, since he last saw his dream, and he’s starting to lose hope.

 

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was no ‘future’. Maybe it was just a dream. Maybe they were right and this is where he’ll live his entire life and die.

 

Maybe there will never be a life for him beyond this place.

 

For days since he came to terms with this, he repeated his own resolve to himself: He told himself for a long time now, he won’t cry. He won’t give his captors and tortures the satisfaction. No matter how bad it was, he can’t cry.

 

But this is just too cruel.

 

For the first time in years, he let the tears fell, mourning that beautiful dream of family, of companionship, and of love.

 

* * *

 

They saw his tear tracks the next day, when they drag him out for their daily dose of entertainment.

 

The Noble who owned him saw it and laughed. He vowed to be able to see them come out himself, and thus, his abuse for the day began anew and much more intensely.

 

But he simply lay there, letting them do whatever they wanted. Not a single drop came out, because he can’t anymore. All of his tears are gone.

 

And so was his hope.

 

* * *

 

He’s starting to forget about that dream.

 

It started from that day when the Noble became frustrated and banged his head repeatedly against the table. Things had been hazy ever since, like his sight and the dull headache throbbing in his head and now, he realize he couldn’t remember that dream to the fullest again. It was blotchy, and so many things were gone from his memory, like the colour of Izou’s kimono, the birds, and the warmth of Ace’s embrace and his smile.

 

His breath turned shallow at this revelation, leading some of the other slaves around him to ask if he’s alright. He couldn’t answer them, not when he started screaming, clawing at his own face, begging for those little memories to return, for the pain to stop, to please, let him have them, he didn’t care that they’re not real, they’re all he has now.

 

They never did came back, and as day goes by, even more of them left him, leaving only blank dots in his mind.

 

* * *

 

The walls shook, and he heard screams from outside of the dungeon. Something terrible happened, and even the slaves around him began to panic.

 

He closed his eyes and turned away from the chatter. Death can come and he won’t care.

 

He’s just too tired.

 

Maybe if he dies, he’d be able to see that dream again, he can meet Ace, Pops, and the others again. Everyone else whose name has long since left his deteriorating mind, along with Pops’ face and Ace’s smile, but it’s okay, because he’ll be back with them, and he can learn anew.

 

So he waited, a ghost of a smile making its way onto his bleeding lips when he heard the door being slammed open, and people started screaming around him.

 

He’s coming home.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, everything was bright and he laid on a soft surface, softer than anything he had ever felt. A bed, he realized after opening his eyes further, though how he came to that realization, he couldn’t tell.

 

There’s a man next to him, sitting by his bedside. He was massive, with crescent shaped moustache just as big as him and long blonde hair, but unlike the exterior, everything about him was kind and gentle. He smiled, and something tugged in the back of his mind when he saw it, as if he had seen it before, “Hello, son. Are you alright?”

 

He didn’t answer, because his throat hurts and he didn’t know what to say. The man was silent with unconcealed sadness, before he ask again, “Do you have a name? Something i can call you with?”

 

A name? Did he have one? Everytime he was refered to it was always with words like ‘the prisoner’, or ‘that little fuckwit’, or multiple ways to call him that doesn’t really constitute a name.

 

And yet, he remembered something else. Something foreign, faces that he never seen before yet felt so familiar, all of them calling him.

 

“Marco,”

 

“Marco? What a nice name. My name is Edward Newgate, dear boy. Nice knowing you,”

 

Edward Newgate smiled at him again, wide and jolly, and he can’t help but smile back, somehow feeling like he can trust this man.

 

* * *

 

When Marco woke up again, he knows all memory of that dream was gone, though strangely enough, he can still remember its existence.

 

But instead of trying to cling to it again, he woke up to the sight of Edward greeting him with a plate of hot food, and felt nothing but safety. Like he didn’t need to hold on to it anymore.

 

Days later, Edward asked if he ever thought of becoming a pirate, and if he wanted to join his crew.

 

Marco nodded over a spoonful of porridge, because he felt like there wouldn’t be any other answer more fitting than that.

 

* * *

 

Marco had only been a part of ‘Whitebeard Pirates’ for 2 weeks, when he accidentally called Edward ‘Pops’ instead of Captain.

 

Edward had only laughed, a sound that shook the sea itself, and his face lit up so brightly Marco can’t feel bad for his mistake, “Oh, i like the sound of that, it has such a nice ring to it. Okay, from now on, call me ‘Pops’ instead,”

 

* * *

 

Learning how to walk was one thing, and learning how to speak properly was another. But learning how to fly seems like an unachievable dream, despite everything Pops said.

 

It’s not even noon yet and Marco already felt tired, his body aching from falling over and over despite his regenerative ability. This would mark a full 2 month since he first attempt to fly, all resulting in him just crashing back on deck and during that one risky time, nearly drown with no one but Pops, also a Devil Fruit user to help. Since then a new rule was established that he could only train in islands they docked to, which just put him even further behind on his training, “Maybe Phoenixes are flightless birds,”

 

“Nonsense, my son, we’ve done the research and we both know they’re not. You’ll get it one of these days,” he said with a chuckle, leaning back against tall tree before offering his hand with the palm upturned, “Come on now, i’ll give you another boost,”

 

Reluctantly, yet strangely still determined, he stood up and climbed on that large hand, wobbling slightly when the hand moved upwards. Instead of putting it above his head, Whitebeard raised him up to eye level, his smile patient and comforting.

 

“Do not give up, Marco. You were meant to fly, after all. Free like the birds in the sky,”

 

He finally stayed airborne long enough for it to constitute as a flight several days later. That very same night, he dreamt of warm fire telling him he had done a great job, and woke up confused yet somehow feeling prouder than he had ever been with himself.

 

* * *

 

Pops has a ‘friend’, at least, that’s what Marco thought he is, since both Pops and Roger would always deny it and call each other rivals instead. Rayleigh said his observation was accurate, and he thought so too, because they often cross each other’s path and instead of fighting like a true enemy, the four of them will end up working together. Also, Roger would sometimes give him toys or souvenirs, calling himself ‘the cool uncle’, and after an incident a month prior, Rayleigh taught him _Haki_ , and would ask for his progress every time they meet again.

 

Right now, it was one of those days where they were after the same treasure, and the aftermath involves both of their small crew running away from the marines. They hid in a small town called Baterilla, and Roger won’t stop eyeing a young red haired waitress.

 

“She’s so goddamn beautiful. Wife material. I wanna marry her,”

 

“You’d have to have the balls— Eh, i mean, the courage to ask her out first before you can propose,” Pops commented over a tankard of ale, using a fork to give Marco two of his uneaten sausages after seeing him eyeing for them. He often does that lately, because Marco is ‘a growing boy’ and needs more nutrients than he. Roger accused him for giving more space for alcohol, “So far, you’ve only been planning your future dates and wedding without even talking to her once,”

 

“I’m working on it,” the man groused, scratching the beginnings of a moustache that’s starting to grow, something Pops accused him for wanting to copy his style. Their entire relationship was full of jabs and exchanges like that, “Can you guys imagine though? We’ll have so many beautiful babies, i mean, just look at her. What should i name our first child? It’s got to be something great, something awe-inspiring, something… something fiery! Like her hair! Oh my god, her hair, did you see how soft they looked? How many dates do you think it’ll take until she’ll let me run my hand through them?”

 

Rayleigh only chuckled and Pops rolled his eyes, but Marco stopped nibbling on his sandwich, when he felt another nudge in his mind and said, “Ace,”

 

Roger turned to him, eyes unblinking, looking like he just reached divine revelation. He then grinned widely, and reached over to ruffle Marco’s blonde hair. The boy giggled at the gesture, “See, i always knew you’re my favorite kid for a reason. Ace, now that _is_ a great one. Gol D. Ace, or maybe Gol D. Ann, if we have a girl. Oh, i can already imagine it. Here, do you want my fried potatoes? Eat up, eat up,”

 

“Again, you’d have to ask her out first and hopefully not thrown out like the last one. Here you go, balance out your diet while i’m here, hm?” Rayleigh quipped, before depositing a piece of his seasoned fish and a hefty helping of salad on Marco’s plate as well, just like the other two before him. The boy’s plate was now full again, and Roger’s not even finished transferring all of the thick potato chunks from his. They always did that every time the 4 of them meet, and Marco never once complained even though he already felt full. For him, it’s better to have stomachache from being too full, than to ever feel the pangs of hunger back during those years in captive.

 

Marco had his plate licked clean by the time Pops started a wager on Roger being accepted or not with Rayleigh, much to Roger’s irritation. Stomach full and drowsy from a long day, he fell asleep cradled in one arm by Pops, with Roger’s red coat as a blanket and his straw hat on his head - “Don’t use my kid as your hat hanger, Roger,” - while the man finally worked up the courage to come up to the waitress.

 

Roger ended up going out with her the next day, while they were still hiding out in Baterilla. The prospect of that wedding and children, as he said in joy, was as sure as getting One Piece.

 

As Pops and Rayleigh started to jokingly bad mouth Roger in good nature in front of Portgas D. Rouge, Marco can’t stop looking at the beautiful, smiling woman, and thought her freckles and smile familiar.

 

* * *

 

Pops’ family grew larger by the day. At Marco’s 16th birthday, - the day Pops found and rescued him, because he doesn’t know his true date of birth - there’s over 700 people on board who threw him a party, not counting the crew’s closest allies that also stopped by just for the celebration.

 

Over the years, Roger’s crew had also grew larger and he and Pops truly became rivals in vying to become the ‘King of Pirates’, but like every other year, without fail, he sent Marco a present through Coo. This year, it was a blue scarf made of the finest silk in all 4 seas, the shade so close to his Phoenix’s flame, along with a heartfelt congratulations letter from him and Rayleigh that he kept hidden in his journal.

 

On board, they had recently recruited Fossa, a young swordsman as well as a damn good tattoo artist, “Well, if i’m still a law-abiding citizen, i would say you’re too young for my services, but what the hell, kid, you’re more adult than some of the adults i’ve seen in my life. Plus i need to give you a present so tattoo it is,” the older man told him when Marco came up to him during the party, asking if he can have one, “So, what’s it gonna be? Rest assured anything i make will be good,”

 

When Marco opened his jacket and reveal the slave mark, a mark he had hidden away from everyone for so long, he added quietly that he’s good at making tattoos disappear as well. But that’s not what he wanted.

 

3 weeks later, the 16 years old strutted proudly to the crowded deck in mid daylight with his shirt open, Roger’s scarf tied around his waist like a belt and a newly healed tattoo that took nearly his entire chest on display. Whitebeard’s jolly roger was proudly presented on pale skin, completely concealing the Mark of Slave.

 

He thought that there were tears on Pops’ eyes when he first sees it, looking to all like he was touched by the gesture but Marco knew otherwise. Pops knew this was him showing that he had put behind his past, drowning it in this new life he was given, something that he will hold tall and proud. The mark of his saviour, of the man he calls father, of his family, over the mark that tells of a degrading life of torture and misery.

 

Fossa ended up doing nothing but tattooing people for the next few months, an idea that now become more or less an unspoken rule on board their ship. Not that they ever need to enforce it, new recruits usually do it by themselves, some even competing on having the largest on their body. So far, Marco’s always win.

 

That position goes up in flames, with the arrival of a boy wielding fire.

 

* * *

 

 

He woke up with a shuddering breath and bathed in cold sweat, dream forgotten though he could hazard a guess as to what they had been.

 

Before he could even adjust himself with his surrounding, his head suddenly gave a painful but relatively manageable throb, making him hiss. His first initial assessment was that he caught sight of the window, and that it’s bright outside, which means he probably had slept for quite a while. Still, his entire body felt lethargic and tired, urging him to take another doze.

 

As if. He’s pretty sure he had been doing nothing but sleeping.

 

Turning to his side, he found a covered bowl on the bedside table, along with a tall glass of water with condensation dripping all around it. There’s no note or anything, but it was obviously left for him, and the faint smell that wafted from underneath the cover when he lifted it up made his stomach growl. It was seaweed soup, he found out after the first sip, already lukewarm but he was hungrier than he thought when he finished the entire thing in only a few seconds.

 

There’s something strange about it, however, something he can’t quite peg down once he was done feeding himself. It tasted just like any other seaweed soup he ever had, and yet there’s a tug on the back of his mind and his tastebud, as if the taste was nostalgic somewhat. He doesn’t know how to describe it, but it felt like something old, something in the brink of revelation in his mind and the tip of his tongue that he just can’t spit out.

 

The more he tries to think about it, the more his head was started to pound, so he gave up.

 

Once he was done with his meal, he found that he was still ravenous, which was odd since that much food would usually keep him full for a while. In the end, as his stomach gurgled, he decided to search for more sustenance, and carried both bowl and glass with him outside. Making his way over to the door without wobbling was a chore, but he made it somehow, and once he opened the door, the first thing he was greeted by was a couple of passing crew members, who turned to him and widened their eyes, “Oh, good morning, Commander Marco!”

 

Their voices and smiles were cheery, but somehow he can’t help but feel like they’re a bit forced. For a brief moment, he wondered if something was wrong out there in the who knows how long he’s been asleep, but the chatter hear could hear from the deck were relaxed enough that there won’t be any emergencies, and there’s nothing to suggest any sort of fight brewing, “Uh, yeah, morning,”

 

“Don’t you think you should be resting a bit more, Commander? You still look pale,”

 

It’s not like he had the chance to check what he looked like since he woke up, but he did feel woozy. Still, “I’ve been doing nothing but sleeping for the last 2 days, and i’m pretty sure i’ve been asleep for days before that. I’m starting to think that my headache was caused by sleeping too much,”

 

He might be imagining it, but he could’ve sworn that the two suddenly grew tense.

 

Marco wasn’t sure what had happened to him in the span of days. The last thing he remembered was the fight in the middle of the storm, and afterwards, he felt like he’s been sleeping for a long time, conscious of his own unconscious state but unable to do anything or force himself to wake up. There’s bit and pieces that were hazy, most that he cannot recollect anymore without feeling like his head is splitting into two, and deep in his subconscious, he felt like he didn’t want to remember.

 

He was told, sometime in the midst of his in and out lull, that he got sick for days since that fight, which he thinks is an impossibility on its own right, but the proof can be felt all over his body. The doctor who examined him was an older woman he didn’t recognize, and during that examination, he could hazily remember Ace and Pops being there, hovering behind her worriedly. He fell unconscious again during their rather tense discussion, and when he woke up the next time, he was back in his own room.

 

Since then, Marco had spent at least 2 days lying on his back, going in and out of sleep, and feeling oddly sympathetic to Ace’s narcoleptic episodes. He wasn’t told what he was sick with, or maybe he did but he honestly cannot remember a lick of it, and this was the first time in so long that he could stand up on his two feet - albeit shakily - and didn’t feel like he’s going to drop dead any time soon.

 

Which is why he waved off the crew members’ concern and made his way out to the deck, bowl and glass held loosely on both hands.

 

Stepping out to the deck, the cold breeze greeted him by blowing at his heated skin, making him shiver pleasantly, and his head felt light after seeing the first unfiltered ray of sunshine. It was so weirdly freeing, and he took in a deep breath of what he knew by heart to be spring air as if he hadn’t had air for so long. The sound of people shouting orders and the sail flapping about was familiar yet he felt like he hadn’t heard them for so long, and for a second, he closed his eyes, letting the rest of his senses bathe in them.

 

“Marco! What are you doing up?!”

 

His enjoyment did not last long when he heard his name being called out, and the blonde commander turned to find Thatch standing a few feet away, mouth agape and a crate with the word ‘oil’ stamped on the side of it. Kitchen ingredients then.

 

“Hey,”

 

“Don’t ‘hey’ me! You’re supposed to be resting,” the chef stomped over to him, expression indignant, “Look at you! You can barely stand up on your own! Go, go, go back to sleep,”

 

“Thatch, i’ve been doing nothing but sleep. I just want to stretch my legs and give these back to the kitchen,” he lifted the empty bowl and glass in his hands. Then, as if on cue, his stomach rumbled, and he winced, “And maybe look for something else to eat. Felt like i barely ate in days,”

 

And oddly enough, he didn’t feel like he’s exaggerating.

 

Thatch looked conflicted, and after a while, he grumbled and cocked his head over, “Fine, i’ll make you something quick, but promise me you’ll go straight back to bed, alright? Damn fool can’t even stand up properly and he’s already prancing around the ship,”

 

Marco quirked his brow at his fellow commander’s mutters but still followed suit, albeit on a slower pace.

 

Along the way, he was stopped by various crewmates, some striking a quick conversation and others just giving him a short greeting, but most always seems to urge him to take a rest or take it easy. It was strangely attentive of them all, so he tried to dissuade their worries, but it doesn’t seem to be working. It got worse by the time he and Thatch arrived in the dining room, with the kitchen hands immediately taking the bowl and glass away from him as if they’re some great burden that needs to be relieved from him as soon as possible, and a pot of tea was offered to him without him needing to ask while he waited for his food.

 

“We still have some of the ingredients for seaweed soup left, Commander Thatch, should we prepare them?”

 

“Yeah, good idea, take that fresh brisket from the fridge and add them in too to make it more filling,”

 

“The soup will take a while, Commander, would you like something else while you waited? Are you still feeling headache?”

 

“Commander Marco, would you like anything else while you’re waiting? Do you want your tea reheated, do you want other leaves? I can take out some honey if you like to go with it, it’ll make you feel fresher,”

 

“Oh, Commander, excuse me, but that chair is rather uncomfortable. Here, use this one instead, it’s not as hard as that one,”

 

What is even going on anymore? He didn’t remember the 4th Division to be this fussy, considering that this is probably right after breakfast and all of them had their own jobs to do, but it seems like at least half of them dropped everything they need to do to cater to him, even though he just wanted to eat.

 

He was going to ask, when the door into the dining area creaked open, “Marco, heard you’re down here,”

 

The blonde looked up from his mug to find Jozu making his way over. So far, he was probably the only one who acted normally, sitting down quietly as he would do per usual instead of immediately hounding him to go back to rest. That said, he’s not quite sure what Jozu is doing down here at this time of the day; the man should be somewhere on the deck now, supervising and training rookies, as well as managing his division’s chore.

 

“What’s happening, really?” he asked finally when the rest of Thatch’s subordinates went back to the kitchen, leaving him alone with Jozu on the table, “Everyone’s been acting strange since i woke up, you’d think i was dying or something,”

 

Jozu was silent, expression unchanging, but Marco caught that seconds of unnerving silence, “They’re just worried. People on this ship care for you more than you think, and the thought of one of our own hurting in any way, or even losing them is unimaginable,”

 

Which was… an odd thing to say, not to mention eerie, “What’s… what’s that supposed to mean?”

 

The paramecia didn’t reply, returning to his stoic demeanour.

 

“Here you go,” whatever thought that ran through Marco’s head was cut short by Thatch walking over and placing something under his periphery, followed by his subordinates doing the same. By the time they’re done, Marco found the empty table now filled with at least 6 different types of food, all of them seemingly freshly made instead of just leftovers from breakfast. Marco almost thought Thatch forgot he’s making food for him instead of Ace, “Eat up, you’ll need a lot of food to recover quickly,”

 

There’s something about the placement of these absurd amount of food that seems familiar, something recent, but no matter how much he tried to remember, he kept drawing blank. Worse yet, thinking made his head spin.

 

What a terrible affliction.

 

Still, he can’t waste this amount of effort so he ate slowly, and during the time he tried to work his way through, people began to fill into the dining area, some of them individually and others in groups, and all of them would come over even for a while to where he sat just to ask if he’s feeling better and if there’s something they can help him with. Haruta even turned around after walking away and pulled him into a hug, almost making him spill sauce on the commander’s green shirt.

 

“What exactly’s going on? Did something happen while i was unconscious?”

 

Jozu’s eyes flickered at the word ‘unconscious’, his expression unreadable and shuttered.

 

Again, he received no reply.

 

* * *

 

Then next time he woke up, the sky outside was much darker, and he knew before opening his eyes that he wasn’t quite alone.

 

“I had the strangest dream,” he muttered lowly, blinking every last bit of sleepiness out of his eyes and sure enough, found Ace sitting by his bedside. The last time he woke up was the only time Ace wasn’t around, because even in the depths of slumber, he can still feel the constant warmth that kept vigilance over him, and it was the only thing that made his frustrating state bearable. This time, he can actually made out the other man’s figure instead of seeing him as a blurry blob and hearing his voice distantly in his mind.

 

There’s a hand placed on the side of his face, caressing gently, thumb running along his scruffy jaw that must’ve formed in the past couple of days. Maybe he should ask Ace if he could bring in a razor, but he’d much prefer it if he’s allowed to shower on his own.

 

Above him, he didn’t know how to explain it, but Ace looked downcast. Marco reasoned that he is simply worried, remembering how distressed he had sounded talking to the doctor from before, and wondered what exactly is it that made him look that sad, “What’s the dream about?” the younger ask in a low whisper, his hand trailing down to his neck and chest, simply touching and doing nothing else.

 

Marco felt his hand stopping, right in the middle of his tattoo, on top of—

 

“I don’t actually remember anymore,” the blonde said, sighing and closing his eyes briefly, “But they felt real, almost too real,”

 

The hand on his chest curled into a fist. The moment he saw Ace lowering his body on top of his, his arms immediately found themselves pulling him close, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to have his lover close. He thought he heard Ace sob against his collar but he’s not too sure, so Marco only pulled him closer still, running his hand up and down the younger’s back, “What got you down? You look upset,”

 

Ace shook his head, hair mussing over his naked and sweat damped skin. He should really go and take a shower, but it doesn’t look like Ace is willing to let him go any time soon.

 

“You sure?” the blonde murmured against raven hair, “You know you can tell me anything,”

 

Slowly, Ace pushed away against his arms, with Marco loosening his grip and moved to straddle the older. The hand on his chest started wandering again, tracing over the wound - the mark - and with s hitch of breath, Marco released his hold on Ace to grab ahold of the hand by its wrist, wanting to push it away.

 

But Ace wouldn’t budge.

 

“Ace…,”

 

“My birth name is Gol D. Ace,”

 

Marco blinked, and felt disbelief once he managed to gather his thoughts, “Huh,”

 

“For as long as i can remember, everyone told me that if one really exist, Roger’s child doesn’t deserve to live. That they’ll be a monster, an abomination,” Ace’s face twisted unpleasantly, with discontent and something akin to anger when he met Marco’s eyes again, “Do you think that too, now that you know that child really exist? Does it disgust you, now that you know that monster’s on your ship, talking to you, _sharing your bed_?”

 

His words dripped with a lifetime worth of hatred, either to the world or to himself, and Marco would know. It’s the same voice that rang in his head every night, haunting his every sleep, laughing at him from every old bumps and ridges along his skin, taunting him that even with the ability to heal himself, they will never truly go away. Ugly, tiresome, and dark, and he hated it that it could come out of Ace’s mouth of all places.

 

“No,” he shook his head, his grip on Ace’s wrist tightening, “Why would i ever be?”

 

“Not even after i told you what everyone says? After everything Roger has done? It doesn’t bother you at all that your captain’s rival’s son, the most hated man in the world, is right now here with you?

 

“I don’t care about what people i’ve never met has to say about anything. And unlike them, i know your father,” Marco answered truthfully, “But even if i didn’t, even if everything the world knows of him and hated him for was right, then i still wouldn’t have cared,”

 

“Why?” And with that one question, he doesn’t look angry anymore, Ace just looked… desperate, distraught. It’s the face of someone who was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, a life filled with anxiety and expecting for the next bad thing to come, a life filled with fear for something out of their hand. A lifetime worth of rejection would do that to someone, he realized, and that was not a life he would wish on anyone.

 

Much less to someone he treasured as much as Ace.

 

“Because right now, what i have with me is just you. Nothing else, not your past, your ancestry, none of it mattered to me,”

 

He couldn’t help but smile when Ace’s face slowly melted into something mellow and disbelieving, his breath hitching slightly like he was pushing down a bubbling emotion. It disappeared quickly, turning melancholic once more, as Marco felt the raven’s hand splayed over his chest. And behind that unblinking, knowing stare, there’s something made cold chill of realization run down Marco’s spine as much as Ace’s next words did.

 

“Then how come you think what’s in your past would matter to me?”

 

The way his fingers traced down the mark under the tattoo was too precise, following the shape he knew seared into his mind and body, even though he knew he never let Ace get that close. It’s possible that he saw it while he was asleep and made the connection, a symbol that could be found in plenty of others in this ship, hidden away unlike Pops’ mark that they bear proudly. It is possible that Ace only knew of that, and nothing else.

 

But those eyes spoke otherwise. Those stormy grey, as dark as a rainy Grand Line skies eyes looks deep into his soul.

 

“I don’t know how you—“

 

“And it doesn’t matter how i know,” Ace sank his body down on top of him, their foreheads pressed together and their eyes so close Marco can see his own reflection in them, “But i promised that i will love and cherish you no matter what, good or bad, and that’s exactly what i will do,”

 

* * *

 

The decision to tell Ace of his past did not come easy, but it did come eventually. It had been the first time in his life that someone was there when he was jolted out of sleep from those all too vivid sight of cage, from the arms holding him down, the smell of rotten, unclean human flesh and the constant darkness. It was the first time he spoke of those years, reliving every moment as if it all only happened yesterday, with each pain seems to blossom on his body as he describe them.

 

His tongue felt like lead the entire time and he can’t stop shaking. He knows that finally allowing Ace to be privy of that part of him, that past he had buried so deep like an old shame, did not miraculously stop those nightmares from coming, but he also knew that just like that night, Ace will be there the next time the terror woke him up, hand holding his, weighing him down.

 

He let himself to be held that night, worn out and exhausted, unable to shake of the feeling that while this was not the first time he was in Ace’s embrace, it felt different somehow, oddly nostalgic and like it was something he had waited his entire life to return to, and that's all that matters.

 

Marco fell asleep that night in peace, knowing that after so long, he’s finally home.

 

-END-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


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